


The Station

by marlowe_tops



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, I wrote this to deal with my feels, Movie Spoilers, Post-Canon, Train Station
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe_tops/pseuds/marlowe_tops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curtis stepped off of the train into the warm sepia light of the station and the buzz of people all around him. He stopped on the concrete of the platform, just in front of the doors, and was immediately jostled by the people exiting behind him.</p><p>Edgar was sitting on the bench across from the doors. He leaned back against the backrest—a bench billboard advertising a brand of toothpaste—and had his legs splayed comfortably. He’d been waiting, but not for too long. </p><p>There was a cigarette between his lips. When Curtis stepped forward, Edgar’s fingers came up, taking the cigarette from his lips as white whorls of smoke spilled out of his mouth and up past his eyes.</p><p>“You’re too young to be smoking,” Curtis said.</p><p>“I’m old enough to die,” Edgar retorted, getting to his feet. “I’m old enough to smoke.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Station

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, unapologetic fix-it fic, set immediately following the movie. If you haven't seen Snowpiercer yet, go see it right the fuck now. Then come back and read this to join me in coping with the infinite feels.

Curtis stepped off of the train into the warm sepia light of the station and the buzz of people all around him. He stopped on the concrete of the platform, just in front of the doors, and was immediately jostled by the people exiting behind him.

Edgar was sitting on the bench across from the doors. He leaned back against the backrest—a bench billboard advertising a brand of toothpaste—and had his legs splayed comfortably. He’d been waiting, but not for too long. 

There was a cigarette between his lips. When Curtis stepped forward, Edgar’s fingers came up, taking the cigarette from his lips as white whorls of smoke spilled out of his mouth and up past his eyes.

“You’re too young to be smoking,” Curtis said.

“I’m old enough to die,” Edgar retorted, getting to his feet. “I’m old enough to smoke.” 

They stood there, a foot apart, while Edgar’s cigarette trailed smoke. He exhaled again, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath his shoe. “C’mon,” Edgar said. 

Curtis followed.

The crowd around them shifted with life. Couples bickered, children laughed, a pair of lovers kissed against a wall. Curtis’ eyes lingered on them before he tore his gaze away. 

Edgar moved in front of him like he knew where he was going. 

The halls of the station were curved on either side, as if even the house of trains was compelled to mimic their shape. Curtis reached out, skimming his fingertips over the tile and mortar of the wall. It was warm to the touch, and slightly damp. Humid with life from so many people and so many breaths.

At the end of the hall, it opened into a vast, vaulted chamber of hazy golden stone and ambient gray light. It felt warm and serene. 

Edgar stopped, head tilted back, and smiled up at the rib vaults of the ceiling. Curtis stopped by his side, looking up, and then around. Someone bumped him, laughing. A child, catching up with her family a few paces ahead. 

“What do you think you’ll do?” Edgar asked. His head was still tilted up at the ceiling. Curtis looked up again as if there was some answer on the ceiling to the question Edgar had asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a train station,” Edgar explained. “Trains every hour for a thousand destinations. You can go anywhere you want.” 

“Appealing though that is,” Curtis said, “I don’t think I want to get on any trains for a long, long time.”

Edgar laughed, finally dropping his gaze and turning a grin on Curtis. He didn’t say anything.

At last, Curtis looked away, smiling and turning his gaze across the station. There was a group of children playing some kind of hand-slapping game with complicated rules. One of them stopped for a moment and waved at him. Curtis lifted his hand and waved back.

Edgar was still watching him. After a few more seconds, Edgar shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. He was willing to wait for Curtis to figure it out.

“I don’t know where I’d go.” Curtis admitted.

“Maybe Brazil? Nice and hot. Or I hear the moon’s nice this time of year.”

“What about you?” Curtis asked instead. “Where are you going to go?”

“With you,” Edgar said, like that was obvious. “I’m not particular. Long as I’m with you.”

Curtis frowned, dropping his eyes and stuffing his own hands into his coat pockets. He’d had this coat for as long as he could remember. It was patched and re-seamed in dozens of places, until much of it was more patch than coat. He didn’t remember where he’d gotten it. He very specifically didn’t remember that it had been a gift from his mother. The last gift from his mother before the ticket that she’d gotten him onto that train. None of which he ever, ever let himself remember. “Last time you followed me somewhere, it didn’t end so well.”

“You think that doesn’t make it worth it?” Edgar asked. His blue-gray eyes were intent and calm. They weren’t forgiving so much as they were accepting. “I’d do it again. I’d follow you anywhere.”

“That’s _not_ a good idea,” Curtis insisted. 

“Okay,” Edgar said. Half of his mouth curled into a smile. It was charming and inviting, and warm with the promise of hope. “Then what say you follow me for a while?”

Curtis let himself smile a tiny bit in return. “Where to?”

“There’s a whole lot of station. We don’t have to go anywhere at all if we don’t want. Not anytime soon. Plenty of room right here. Plenty of things to do.”

Breathing deeply, Curtis looked up at the ceiling that had caught Edgar’s interest earlier. They’d built cathedrals like this. And train stations. Grand Central, where he’d stepped onto the train eighteen years ago. The ceiling was painted the deep blue-green of the sea, and hung with golden stars.

“Okay,” Curtis agreed, returning his eyes to Edgar’s face. “I’ll follow you for a while. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Great,” Edgar said. He held out his hand, and Curtis took it. Edgar’s hand was warm, and his grip was firm.

“You hungry?” Edgar asked, already headed toward one of the columned arcades branching off from the main vault and tugging Curtis along with him. He looked back over his shoulder, smile wider than Curtis had ever seen it. “I found a great place to get a steak.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the train station is the afterlife. I needed fix-it fic, but I felt like any other kind of fix-it fic would have invalidated the significance of their deaths. So I sent them for steak in heaven. (After which they will be intensely making out in a real bed in heaven, yes, of course.)


End file.
